Fog, like a China wall,

an enameled dragon, silver

slithers and crawls

toward the western horizon

swallows the mandarin sun

whole like a host

down its grey-gauze throat

burying alive all light,

all hope in its stranglehold

on the evening air.

 

I have seen nothing

more beautiful than this moment:

the death rattle of day;

the spasm of twilight.

 

by Paul Totah

August 28, 2004